


beginnings & endings & what comes between

by Areiton



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergent, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, POV Second Person, Smut, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Beginnings aren’t like endings.You wish they were.





	beginnings & endings & what comes between

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely canon complaint--except that Tony and Rhodey marry in Endgame and are Morgan's parents. Enjoy! 
> 
> So this prompt (Beginnings & Endings) is actually from yesterday? Oops. I tossed a little magic there at the end, so that should cover today’s prompt. Again for @ironhusbandsweek & @rhfenovemberbash.

Beginnings aren't like endings. 

You wish they were. You wish you could remember the first time you saw him, the first time you heard the name Tony Stark. You wish you knew, the moment your life changed forever. 

You don't. There were whispers and rumors about the tiny teenager tearing through MIT before you ever paid attention, whispers that sank through the fog of study and drill and dream. 

You vaguely remember seeing him, weighed down by books, muttering furiously, in coffee shops and classrooms and the gleam of light in mostly dark labs, something later you would _ know _was Tony, would use to drag him out of the lab and into bed. 

You wish you remembered. 

You remember when you took pity on him, small and furious and beautiful and brilliant, claimed him as yours--lab partner and friend, roommate and brother, and maybe you didn't know _ then _, but you know now and that matters more, you think. 

You wish, too, you remembered the first time he looked at you. When you felt heat curl in your gut at the little smirk that he never gave anyone else. You wish you remembered the way his name tasted the first time you gasped it as you got yourself off in the shower, wish you could remember what that first fantasy was. 

You wish you remembered the way your heartbeat too fast, your gut tightened, your cock ached, wished you remembered the wild fluttering hope when he rolled into your arms, curled close and you had to remind yourself you were his best friend, that’s all, that’s it. 

You don’t. You remember the _ feeling _, hot and intoxicating and devastating. You remember the taste of his lips when you kissed him, the coffee and grease. You remember the way he passed out before you could go any further, exhausted and exultant, and you carried him to your bed. 

You remember waking to his mouth on you, hot and impossible to forget, and the way he felt when you pushed into him, velvety heat, wiry strength and throaty groans and his fingers digging into your shoulders as he panted against your mouth. 

You couldn’t forget that if you tried. 

You don’t remember how it started. You don’t remember those early moments when your world shifted, and you want them, you want them so goddamn bad, because you want every moment with him, want to turn them over and polish them and keep them safe, a little dragon’s horde of treasured memories. 

That’s not how beginnings work. 

Endings--endings are abrupt. 

Endings are dusty fields and his voice ringing out across it and fear clutching you, ice cold and terrible. 

Endings are power he can’t handle, wrapping around him and tearing through him and his silence because he’s strong, he’s so fucking _ strong _ and he would never scream. 

Endings are Pepper holding Peter, and the kid’s sobs in your ears and Tony’s eyes--bright and brilliant and beautiful--on yours, and his lips twisted in a smirk you know is yours. 

Endings are you whispering reassurances and him mouthing your name and silence, terrible terrible silence where his heartbeat should be. 

~*~ 

Second chances…

Second chances are Strange’s magic and Helen’s Cradle and Wanda’s power and Tony’s sheer fucking stubbornness. 

Second chances are months of waiting, impossibly short endless months while he lingers in a coma and you sit at his side and ignore the world stumbling beyond these thin walls. 

Second chances are Peter in the house, his voice different but familiar and you praying that Tony will hear it again. 

Second chances are hearing a heart monitor in the depth of sleep, and your daughter whispering, “_ Daddy,” _and a hand tightening around yours. 

And you store it up, each precious memory as he blinks at you. 

You won’t forget a single fucking second of this. 


End file.
